


i wanna be (the place you call home)

by wickedlittleoz



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Again I'm the worst with tags, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Billy's POV, Harringrove, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Period-Typical Homophobia, Post-Season/Series 02
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-22
Updated: 2019-03-22
Packaged: 2019-11-27 10:36:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,213
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18193475
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wickedlittleoz/pseuds/wickedlittleoz
Summary: But there were a lot of Steves in this world and Billy hardly thought he’d meet his soulmate in a shitty hole like Hawkins.





	i wanna be (the place you call home)

_Steve Harrington_

The name had scribbled itself onto Billy’s side slowly during the year of his 13th birthday. At first he hadn’t worried, too excited that he was getting his mark at last – everyone his age at school already had theirs; people who couldn’t stand each other before were being drawn to one another and forming couples already.

When the “t” appeared after the initial “S” he started hoping for a “Stella”, even though he didn’t know any girls named Stella. The “e” came right after and he had a few weeks of peace. The “v” was unmistakable.

Truth is that he’d known he liked boys long before _Steve Harrington_ became a branding on his hip. But he wasn’t _allowed_ to like boys. Neil had been very clear ever since he could remember that he didn’t believe in that soulmate bullshit, but if the name on Billy’s body wound up being a man’s, he would be disowned. As if he had a choice.

So Billy hid it as long as he could. Lied, said his mark hadn’t appeared yet, maybe he had some sort of mutant gene and he wouldn’t ever get one. Showered after practice only when everyone else had left. At home, woke earlier so Neil wouldn’t catch him when he was changing.

That only got him a few years. After saving money from his summer jobs, at 16 he could finally buy his own car, against Neil’s wish, but there was nothing to be done.

His mistake was to get so bold. He would go to the beaches on the other side of town, when there was no one around, to meet secretly with other boys who had boys’ names on their skins. He thought he was safe.

Until he wasn’t anymore. Until he woke in the middle of the night to his drunk father pulling at his covers, at his clothes, searching with bloodshot eyes for his mark.

To this day, Billy still thinks it was Maxine who told Neil where his mark was. Hers was just starting to bloom that summer, a bold “L” right above her knee on the backside of her right leg, and she’d been bugging him to let her see his.

That was the first time Neil ruined his face. And it was so bad that even after he told everyone at school that he’d gotten his ass handed to him for fooling around with this girl who had a boyfriend, no one believed him. The school counselor asked to see Neil.

They moved a week later.

To the middle of nowhere, a small hippy town in Indiana where Susan’s sister had vacationed once, _it’s so quiet and adorable, people are so kind_ , she had said and Neil needed no more. Even better, it was cold all year long and Billy would have _no choice but to keep your fucking clothes on_.

 

As a kid, both his parents had been skeptical, almost on the side of bitter about the soulmate thing. Books and other kids at school had taught Billy about the way the universe wisely selected people to be your perfect match of a lifetime, and told you exactly who they were.

He had wondered ever since what happened if your soulmate didn’t live close to you, how you were supposed to find someone, say, on the other side of the planet. Even if you had the resources, you could only search as far.

It was only after his mother died that Billy saw her mark, hidden on her lower belly. He was the one who found her passed out in the bath, water a burgundy hue, her skin whiter than paper. The mark, when he pulled her out of the bloodied water, read _Veronica Laurens_.

Billy remembered Veronica as his mother’s best friend, perhaps her only friend. She would come over often, but only when Neil was at work.

He always knew his parents had been unhappy in their marriage, and maybe finding out that they weren’t, as a matter of fact, each other’s soulmates should cause Billy to believe even more fervently in his own mark.

But it was safer for him to ignore it. It was safer to pretend he was one of those people he often read about, the ones who couldn’t love their soulmates, couldn’t make it work with them. It was, in truth, the only way to survive, at least until he was free of Neil.

 

Hawkins was ridiculous, a pathetic excuse of a town. The roads literally reeked of cow shit because the farms were way too close to the center of town; it was rainy and cold and foggy from the very first day, and people were _nosy_. Like, nosier than teenage girls itching to gossip.

Billy hated it.

Tommy had thrown himself at Billy since he first set foot into Hawkins High, _thirsty_ for attention, and if his mark hadn’t been sharp black on his right forearm, Carol’s name to match his on her own arm, Billy would’ve thought he was gay.

He talked about a _Steve_ on and on, bitterness in his laughter.

“Nancy’s only dating him because she’s probably ashamed to be seen around with a creep like that Byers kid,” he would say, staring at the couple during lunch. “I mean, who wouldn’t be, right?”

And truthfully, he was thankful that Jonathan Byers wasn’t the name branded on _his_ skin.

But there were a lot of Steves in this world and Billy hardly thought he’d meet his soulmate in a shitty hole like Hawkins.

Until basketball practice, two days later, and coach barking _Harrington!_ at the boy Tommy had introduced him to at the party as _Steve_.

He’d had to laugh at his own fate, because _Steve Harrington_ , his very own soulmate, the name in scrawny handwriting branded on his skin for the past 4 years, was former _King Steve_ , the one who’d given up the crown for a girl who _wasn’t_ his soulmate, only to have her break up with him because apparently he was that dumb and wore his heart on his sleeve.

He was also the most breathtakingly beautiful guy Billy had ever met, and he’d met his share of handsome men in California.

So he’d had to laugh, he’d had to learn to hate Steve, because it was the easy way out. Easier than acknowledging the way his _soulmate_ eyed at him when he thought Billy wasn’t looking, the way he scrunched his nose and probably thought he was better off alone. And Steve was right to think that.

The sound of his fists colliding with Steve’s bones and the image of his bloodied face haunted Billy in his dreams after Max drugged him. Steve, in a white bathtub filled with red liquid, thrashing, drowning in his blood, but Billy couldn’t save him.

He wasn’t the right fit for Steve, the universe had fucked up with them. He only knew hate and pain, and Steve deserved love and happiness. He was one of the _good_ ones. Billy was shit.

 

When he came to he wasn’t in the Byers’ anymore. Actually… He had no idea where he was. But the bed and the pillows were soft, and his head was pounding, so he thought maybe he should go back to sleep.

The sound of the door opening had him widening his eyes again and none other than Steve Harrington stepped inside. He stood by the door, his good eye locked on Billy, and maybe it was whatever drugs he was on, but he suddenly feel nauseous at the sight.

Steve padded over to the bed, his footsteps muffled in the expensive carpet. He sat next to Billy and pretended not to notice when he tried to shuffle away from him, placed a soft, warm hand on his nape and pressed the cold rim of a glass to his mouth. Held his gaze while Billy accepted the water.

The air between them was thick and heavy; he could probably cut the tension with a butter knife. Billy had spent the last couple of weeks shutting Steve off, but right now he could barely remember his reasons. His dad was a faraway concept.

He wet his lips, “This your place?”

Steve nodded and Billy had half the thought to sneer, say something offensive about how he reeked of money and absent parents. But then Steve was giving him those eyes, those abandoned puppy eyes, and his lips trembled ever so slightly when he whispered _please let me see it_.

And something about the suspicious way Max had been acting since she made friends with those kids, along with the tone of Steve’s voice made him think that whatever the hell was going on in this town had the guy in front of him – his _soulmate_ –  fearing for his life.

His fingertips were still a little numb when he gripped the fabric of his shirt, wondering to himself why Harrington hadn’t _just_ _looked_ since Billy had been out of it for god knows how long. Until the voice in the back of his head reminded him that Steve was probably too much of a gentleman for that.

He stood up when Billy pushed the covers away, helped him find balance with a hand on his arm. Then took a step back respectfully as he undid his belt, although his good eye was hungry and shameless and trained on his lower body.

Choosing that outfit the night before, dressing up for that date, seemed like a lifetime ago. But at the same time, as he let his jeans drop to his feet, somehow it also felt like it had been leading to that moment.

He tugged the waistband of his underwear lower on his left hip. Harrington’s hand shot up instinctively, but he stopped himself just before his fingers grazed Billy’s skin. He swore he felt electricity charge in the small space separating them.

“Can I?” Harrington asked, voice catching in his throat in a way that made Billy’s heart clench, although he could not fathom why. He nodded.

Again, his skin was too soft on Billy’s, softer than anything he’d ever touched. He traced his own name, a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth, though under swelling and purple spots Billy could barely make it out. His fingers raised goosebumps on their path; Billy felt himself shudder.

“It’s my–”

“Handwriting, yeah.” Harrington met his eyes, astonishment in his face, “I saw your Algebra test on Mr. Vermont’s desk the other day.”

He thought for a moment, “Yeah, all I did was sign it.”

When he pulled his hand back, Billy felt like a piece of his skin was being ripped. But a second later Harrington was undoing his own belt, pushing his jeans and underwear down to expose his mark. And surely enough there was Billy’s own handwritten name spread over the side of his hip. He felt weirdly _giddy_ at the sight.

“How old were you?”

“13,” Harrington sat back on the bed, looked up at him until Billy followed. “I’ve heard that it usually happens around the same time. I mean, at least for Carol and Tommy… I had to watch them realize it the summer we turned 12.”

The thought of those two realizing that they’re soulmates and getting together made Billy sick, mostly because he was certain they must’ve fucked left and right. Carol was probably saving herself for her soulmate or some romantic shit like that that girls liked to say.

He made a face and Harrington laughed, and it was the first time he heard it, and instantly Billy realized that if he had to kill someone to hear that laugh again, _anyone_ , he would.

“Did you…” Billy looked up when he hesitated. “Look? For me?”

There was a pause then, because he couldn’t bring himself to answer. Yes, but at the same time no. Back in California he’d looked for fun and freedom in the boys he hooked up with. But he’d always known nothing could compare to what he imagined getting together with his soulmate – _Steve Harrington_ – would feel like.

“No,” he said and glanced quickly at Steve, just to watch him visibly deflate. “My father, he’s…”

How to describe Neil Hargrove without calling him a murderous bastard?

“Yeah, I get it,” Harrington said before he could continue. And he held Billy’s hand.

His first instinct was to pull his hand back, flee, leave the house before they’re seen together. But ever since he’d woken up he had heard no sign of other people. It looked like it was just the two of them in the ole Harrington mansion.

And in that wide bedroom with walls a sickeningly green, covered in generic posters and surrounded by expensive furniture, it felt like they were in a separate reality.

One where there was no Max to bring back and no Neil waiting for him back home.

One where Billy didn’t have to hate Steve only to keep them safe from his father, one where he could spend time with him, get to know him, fall in love with him… And be unafraid.

So instead, he let the weight of Harrington’s hand be the anchor that kept him safe.

 

“… Sorry about your face.”

**Author's Note:**

> There's an AU ideas bot on Twitter and my friend RT'ed one of its [tweets](https://twitter.com/au_idea_bot/status/1108002478715334657) the other night that said "your soulmate's name is written on your body au". Now, this bitch here LOVES soulmate AUs. Like. All of them. Always wanted to write one, but just can't come up with my own ideas apparently. So this happened.  
> Written in one go, unbetae'd, but I've been itching to get back to writing for _weeks_ , so this will have to do for now. Hope you can still enjoy this little drabble thing.
> 
> Title from Keane's Hamburg Song, one of my favorites from them.  
> Thank you so much for reading, hit me up on Tumblr @wickedlittleoz as well!! xoxo


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